


One Last Call for Alcohol

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Caring Dean, Cas is Of Age to Drink, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Drinking, Drunk Castiel, First Meetings, High Sam, Humor, If Dean Went With Sam to Stanford, Light Angst, M/M, Sam and Dean at Stanford, Some Humor, Stanford University
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-30 12:01:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8532277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: “What’s this?”“Alka-Seltzer.” Dean tosses him a frozen bag of peas along with it, which Cas catches, only that raises an even more inquisitive, squinty-eyed, like Dean’s the sun shining through the window first thing in the morning. Not that Dean minds. Despite being under scrutiny, those dark blue eyes look as cozy as the galaxy comforter he would sink into before his mom kissed him goodnight—or the actual stars through one of the many thin horizontal openings of his blinds. Dean’s always been fascinated by stars, so naturally, he has to turn away from looking directly at Cas.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title inspired by a line from the classic song, "Closing Time" by Semisonic.

One Last Call for Alcohol 

Dean is torn between sighing and laughing as he drops his _Mechanics: Breaking Down the Word_ textbook onto the bed, “Sam, how many times have I told you not to hang out with that Ruby chick?”

“Hmmumph nuhrerm,” Sam mumbles intelligently as his head knocks softly against the door frame.

“I heard that,” Dean replies, striding forward. “Whatever, fun time’s over, let’s get you in bed. Did you walk home by yourself? Did you— _did you take the Impala?_ Sam, I swear to God, if you took her—”

As Dean rounds the door, he sees a man with a hand on Sam’s chest, the other on his back. It’s a light touch, and it shouldn’t work for someone like Sam who makes a regular laptop look like a flip phone. “Sorry, I wanted him to call you, but he trampled over his cell when it fell out of his coat pocket. You’re Dean, right?”

Dean’s mouth goes slacker than Sam’s wilting posture. The guy beside Sam is gorgeous, it’s hard to believe Dean hasn’t seen him around campus (then again, it _is_ Stanford). He has a whipped chocolate ice cream swirl that falls over the rest of his messy hair, eyes big and blue enough to be their own separate earths, and dimples that come with even the smallest of a smile. Top that off with the suit he’s wearing and the tie that matches his eyes, and Dean loses as much control over his words as if _he’s_ the one that’s high.

“Uh, no-I mean, yeah, Dean is me, I am Dean.”

“Cas.” The guy lends out his hand just as Sam starts to fall back. Both Dean and Cas jump to the rescue, hauling him forward.

Dean grunts next as he throws Sam’s giant arm around his shoulder, successfully taking him off Cas’s hands, and, against his own willpower, blushes. “Nice to meet you. And thanks for getting him home safe.”

“It’s not a problem, I enjoy Sam’s company,” Cas replies with a genuine smile. “Even when he’s high.”

“How do you guys know each other?”

“We’re on the Speech and Debate team together.”

It’s hard to believe two years ago when they first came here, Dean teased Sam about being on such a team, because now, looking at its other members, well… Dean’s changed his mind about the hotness of what he considered to be every attempt at a family dinner in his childhood storybook. (Though he won’t admit to it, Dean mostly teased Sam to develop a sense of normalcy in their new life.)

Dean nods, trying to act as cool as possible with a near two-hundred pound moose on him. “Nice.”

“Is he going to be okay?” Cas asks.

“Oh yeah, Sam’s a Winchester, we handle ourselves like we handle women: responsibly and with care.”

It’s then Sam uses his opportunity to be almost completely _sober_ saying, “You mean like that time you thought you knocked up Lisa Braeden?”

Dean rolls his eyes and replies, “I think he’ll be okay,” to which Cas laughs. He’s got a deep laugh, just like his voice. It gives Dean goosebumps. “Well, I better get him into bed.”

“Right. I’ll, uh, see you around?” There’s a little bit of hope in Cas’s tone, and Dean can’t help but smile.

“Definitely.”

***

If there’s one thing to know about Dean, it’s that he keeps his promises.

Dean sees Cas around—more than once. He manages to work his way around asking Sam about him without directly asking with questions like, “So, why don’t you and Cas ever study in his room?” or “You know anyone who can give me pointers on my English presentation? Not you, Sam. Yes, I know you’re a word nerd. I need someone who can give me a critical point of—ha, believe me, I _know_ you can be critical, that’s not the point—” 

Unfortunately, Dean’s taught Sam everything he knows about asking girls out, so Sam catches on after the third or fourth question and eventually just says, “Room 51, top floor. And I know what you’re thinking, and yes, the floors _are,_ indeed, thin enough to hear you if you play hide-and-seek in each other’s pants, so for the love of God, please be considerate of us poor studious souls, and wear a condom.”

Dean sneers over the top of his laptop, and then waits a second before slamming it and tearing out of the room.

Despite how well Sam thinks he knows Dean (which… okay, is pretty well), Dean actually spends time in Cas’s dorm talking about everything and anything, which is actually a lot more stimulating. Classes, majors, outside interests, cars (Cas drives a Gold ’78 Lincoln Continental—his choice. Most people would consider it crappy, but the way Cas talks about when he first laid his eyes on her, he pretty much convinces Dean, expert of all things cars, it’s the best vehicle ever.), exes, and swapping the occasional embarrassing story.

This continues for weeks, months soon to follow. They rotate between dorms, go out for breakfasts, lunches, and dinners, and even take a trip to Coyote Point, where Dean learns Cas has a deep appreciation for nature.

One day something ruins all that—or at least, Cas thinks it does.

“What’s this?”

“Alka-Seltzer.” Dean tosses him a frozen bag of peas along with it, which Cas catches, only that raises an even more inquisitive, squinty-eyed, like Dean’s the sun shining through the window first thing in the morning.

Not that Dean minds. Despite being under scrutiny, those dark blue eyes look as cozy as the galaxy comforter he would sink into before his mom kissed him goodnight—or the actual stars through one of the many thin horizontal openings of his blinds.

Dean’s always been fascinated by stars, so naturally, he has to turn away from looking directly at Cas.

Not that Dean is a source of light in the first place, but Cas always seems to do that squinty thing when Dean’s looking at him. But in all fairness, Dean does say some stupid things, and not everyone can know every line to the first Lord of the Rings movie.

But then, it’s better Dean took him in over anyone else, because Cas seems to do more smiling when he’s around. And after a night like the one before, Cas definitely needs one.

When Dean sits down next to him on the spare bed (which, _wow,_ is lumpy, how on Earth did Adam used to sleep on this?), he answers, as if it explains it all, “You think I have a stove to eat those up on?”

Cas opens his mouth, and then closes it again and he presses the cold compress against his right temple. He looks tired—far beyond physically. Dean’s seen the same tired in the man posing as his reflection.

“How long have you known my brother?”

Cas moves his head slowly, as if his neck is a crane swinging a broken AC. “Um, couple months maybe?”

“That’s what I thought. Try a couple _decades,”_ Dean says, offering a small smile. “That wasn’t the first time Sammy’s experimented. I can tell this wasn’t your first time getting drunk.”

“You took care of Sam?”

Dean nods, looking at the ground as he recalls, “Practically my whole life.”

A single word spills from Cas’s mouth easier than most whiskey from a jar: “Wow.”

“What?”

Cas shakes his head softly, concern weighing down his forehead and trickling over his eyebrows. “You haven’t told me that. It’s just, if you take care of everyone, who takes care of you?”

Dean swallows hard. “Drink, before it fizzes out.”

Cas does as he’s instructed, downing the whole thing. Dean takes amusement in watching him shiver full-body. “Holy shit, that’s nasty,” he says, smacking his pink chapped lips, “Who drinks this stuff anymore?”

“Beats a nasty hangover.”

“Yeah, I’m kind of a lightweight.”

“I figured as much when I found you lecturing the bartender about environmentalism _,_ ” Dean laughs, playing with his fingers in his lap. “I mean, Donnie listened, he’s not an asshole, but there’s only so much you can hear after whipping up a fourth platter of the nacho supreme.”

“Donnie?”

“The bartender,” Dean replies. Cas raises his eyebrows. “I’m the guy who orders a fourth platter of nachos. And the occasional drink, but mostly the nachos.”

“I’m sorry.”

Dean narrows his eyes, even though he knows well enough what Cas is talking about. “For my unhealthy nacho addiction?” Cas manages a small laugh, to which Dean smiles and says, “Don’t worry about it. It actually gives me an excuse to be with you today.”

Cas’s lips turn up into a small smile. “Okay then. But you know you don’t need an excuse.”

“Humor me. I like to pretend I play hard to get.”

Dean gives Cas’s head a moment to throb as it tries to soak in the cheesy line. Dean knows it’s throbbing not because he can outright see it, but because when he showed up for his usual, Dean spotted Cas downing his third Purple Nurple. He still doesn’t know what’s in those things, but he does know whatever it is can drive him to sleep with girls named Starla. “What brought you to the bar?”

“You know what I’m majoring in, right?”

Dean throws his head back in question. “Yeah, Film and Multi-Media. What’s wrong with that?”

Cas removes the compress to look at Dean shyly and say, “That’s not exactly what I’m majoring in. Well, it is, it’s just the broader scope of what I actually want to do.”

“What do you want to do?”

Cas hires a temporary position for the smile that signs onto his face: “I want to become an actor.”

“Now wait, hold up, if you’re _not_ actually hungover right now—”

Cas laughs, though he winces, and the compress goes back on his head, “No, I’m uh-I’m not that good yet.”

“I doubt that. Show me what you’ve got.”

A pause. “What?”

Dean smiles encouragingly and waves him on, “Recite something.”

“I, uh… I don’t know,” Cas says warily.

“I’m not feeling the believability.”

Cas scoffs, adding a little color to his cheeks again as he says, “Okay, assbutt, I’ll give you something…” There’s another pause, then a moment later, he produces something. Dean knows, because the compress comes off and Cas leans over the bed to set the Alka-Seltzer on the small wooden nightstand. But most importantly, his eyes alight like actual constellations—or shooting stars trapped within the confines of the night sky:

“That cheap little tramp. So she's been two-timing me, huh? Well I'm through protecting her; she can swing for all I care! Boy, I'm down at the garage working my butt off 14 hours a day and she's out there munching on bon-bons and tramping around like some goddamn floozy! Thought she could pull the wool over my eyes? Well, I wasn't born yesterday. I tell ya there are some things a man just can't take, and this time she pushed me too far. That little chiseler. Boy what a sap I was!”

Dean has to look around him to make sure Cas isn’t talking to anyone behind him—no, not talking, _ranting._ You’d never guess by looking at him, springing from the bed and waving fingers, that he got knocked on his ass not even twenty-four hours prior. “Holy shit. I mean-uh, w-what, uh, was that from?” Dean asks, trying to reassure himself and his accelerated heart rate it’s all an act, because holy _damn,_ that was scary good.

“ _Chicago,”_ Cas replies, sitting back down quickly, “it’s my favorite musical.”

“Nice. Seriously, that was pretty friggin’ awesome. So what’s stopping you?”

The compress returns to Cas’s head as he looks to the ground. “My parents and I had a blow-out the other day, and it sorta slipped from my brother Gabe in my defense that I was going to be an actor. Now they’re not funding me. Luckily, tuition is paid off until the end of the year, but…”

“Holy shit,” Dean repeats, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, man. You can always talk to the adviser about rooming with Sam and I so you don’t have to worry about an apartment. Our old roommate got transferred out, so he won’t even mind. I mean, I know the bed is awful, but I have an air mattress in the closet—”

“Thank you, Dean, really. But I couldn’t—”

“You asked who takes care of me. This is my version of self-care, helping people I care about,” Dean says, facing him fully as he lets the admission flow free. Cas meets his eyes, and he cracks a little smile. “My dad disowned Sam when college was merely an _idea_ in his mind. I couldn’t even tell him _I_ was thinking about it too, so I just up left for Palo Alto when Sam hit eighteen, and here we are.”

Dust catches in his nose, forcing him to stop. Then Cas’s hand is on his knee, and he has to stop himself again, because now he understands that the lightest touch can send butterflies through his stomach. “It’s probably better we learned how to add someone to our two-person family anyway,” he continues. “We don’t have many Facebook friends.”

Cas laughs, then does the damnest thing: He leans forward and kisses Dean’s cheek.

Dean swears he sees stars now, including a red dwarf, because his face is burning up. Then the least possible romantic thing comes from Cas’s mouth, yet somehow leaves Dean laughing too: “I’m glad your brother has a high intolerance for weed.”

Dean, as he leans in and irons a firmer kiss on Cas’s lips, couldn’t agree more.


End file.
